Happy Christmas!

It's already Christmas and soon, we're going to turn to a new calander. Honestly, I'm really glad this year is over. Its's been an extremely eventful one, but not always for happy reasons. The luck department seems to be on an all-time-low. The new year better give it good business!

Christmas, although, is the happiest time of the year. I love it, and I've always done something new, different or fun, on every single christmas. We still maintain the tradition of decorating the christmas tree, and I always hang a sock, which no more gets filled with surprise gifts, but it's fun doing it all the same. This year we went to an orphanage, close to my place. What an expreience it was!

It's strange how we picture a gloomy setting, with depressed kids dressed in white gowns, sitting in a dining hall, waiting to be fed , when we say the word "orphans". It's probably because we think them as unfortunate and decide to sympathise/empathise with them. This feeling of supremacy masquerading in the guise of pity, is such a typical  "higher beings" feeling. I'd say, I've never seen a happier bunch.

Around 40 of them, tearing the house down with their scheeches, laughter, and innocent madness , only reminded me of my childhood. What is the difference between me and them. Seeing them, the difference seemed like a thin line. But a very noticible one, ofcourse. They were survivors, they are fighters. And they, are truly happy to be alive.

A group of volunteers were there to celebrate christmas with them. A rather (underfed) looking Santa was jumping on the balls of his feet, puncturing the constant babble with a "ho ho ho!", and an over excited and fascinated child would go poke his tummy at regular intervels, with his mouth open. They were  rounded up later and taught the christmas carols, in Hindi. How they translated and made the hindi version of all the carols, is beyond me. But it was such a delight to watch it, all the same. While the lady who runs the place was telling us about the magnitude of her responsibilities and her the constant struggle to get these children to go to regular schools, I was torn between  floating emotions of sadness and a mad desire to laugh. Who can imagine these little nutters going through any problems at all! They seemed more happy than I ever was, when I was little. Plus seeing all 40 of them, together, looked like a perpetual, non-exhaustive party.  Remember Mr. India? :)

I'm really looking forward to new year. It's going to be awesome, I already know it (like tradition goes, I'll never say it). That's one thing I was looking forward to. There's another thing. My music classes. My guitar sits in front of me the whole day. It's dark marronish. It's pretty hot. But it's rather upset at the lack of use. Worry not Mr....Anonymous (you will be christened soon, I promise), you're going to be singing a new tune, EVERYDAY.

That's all for now. I shall be updating soon. All the love and hugs and all that jazz.

Tchus.

Mary Elizabeth Frye

I came across this beautiful poem. And I couldn't resist posting it here, because I do not intend on forgetting it.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,


I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly falling snow.

I am the gentle showers of rain,

I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,

I am in the graceful rush

Of beautiful birds in circling flight,

I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,

I am in a quiet room.

I am in the birds that sing,

I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there. I do not die.

The inside and outside of Facebook.

I came across this article, which just aptly reflects my thoughts and doubts about one's life inside the facebook page, and outside it.  A good read, which incidently also talks about another interesting topic- The Imposter Syndrome.

Read it at lesiure.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/dec/11/change-your-life-online-friends

Walking Through the Corridor of Time

I've got a hunger
Twisting my stomach into knots.
That my tongue has tied off.

My brain's repeating
"If you've got an impulse let it out"
But they never make it past my mouth.

Bop ba,Bop ba, this is the sound of settling
Bop ba, Bop ba...

It's been a while since I rediscovered anything-music, art, writing, places, pictures, etc.

There's something about rediscovering things. Almost eveything that is hardwired for us to know, feel  is nothing but through memories. I don't know when I learnt how to cycle. Or swim. But when I do it again after decades, I know I can connect with those first-time, emotions of when the let-go happened- an impulsive second of recklessness, freedom and unbounded joy.

I've been in Delhi for a while now. This place I call home. Home that is so wonderfully comfortable and so understandably flawed. I've loved it while my foundation years where making me what I am today. I've hated it while I've been away. And today, I know I'll still be cynicle, criticizing, and... appreciative. I'll never accept it's beauty while I walk on  it's roads with sprawling greens on either sides, and travel in the clean, shiny tracks with crooning voices inside. Outside this city where I'll leave my 21 years, my life, my world, and my past, I'll know it is irreplaceable.

We were on our usual job hunt, and Hotness and I were roaming the streets of Hauz Khaz.

Hauz Khaz is not a part of your usual Delhi. It is like a mini hill station inside the very city. The obvious temperature drop, the narrow, long road uphill and crowded array of almost squashed shops, cafe's and tea stalls, can't help but lift your spirits. Sometimes you wonder why people would be happy to have a one square feet, tiny shop that offers never-seen before curios, artifacts, and antiques, in a place which is so far away from the main city where civilization exists. Maybe because of it's exclusivity. But a romantic would tell me-it's the intoxification and irrevocable nature of the air that induces the drug of love... Death over seperation.

The ruins are so peaceful, and so calm, that you'd feel unnerved for a moment. Someone has walked those inside roads, run across the arch ways , sang the song of dusk and climbed down the rocky steps, to wave a goodbye to the dying sun, sitting at the edge of the green lake. Life seemed to have left those ruins, centuries ago. But it's still not sad, and it is still not gloomy.
The ruins, still, breath.

As we walked down that road, we visited all the cute cafe's and shops. It is amazing what one can do with just enough space to accomodate 8 people, keep a kettle in the background and call it a tea shop. It is also amazing, how this place still seems to be so innocently hidden away from commercialization.

It is all in the beauty of rediscovering that you realize that often, things we leave behind might have had more to offer than we'd known. It is not called living in the past, mind. It is called having LIVED the past.

Tuchs! :)

Over the Hill, On To the Other Side.

It'll be over soon. My prolonged illness only increased the pace of the countdown for my return. Although there may be a lot of grey areas still untouched, but it'll all be good. The unpleasant innuendos and some sudden gush of nostalgia is all mixed together in one crazed up fine blob. But no, it'll all get better.

Funnily, it is this illness which has induced a lifetime of superstition but also frequent bursts of unattainable ambitiousness for the fuuture. There's nothing more amusing. There is nothing more confusing!

I've been watching a lot of television. Mostly it's just trash in motion. And then I happened to watch Pogo and cartoon network. I think I know excatly why kids love watching cartoons. I can't believe I stopped watching them.

Very soon to come will be a brand new blog, a picture blog,. The writer and the photographer, however are on very personal and mysterious sabbaticals. But the blog will happen. It will.

So keeping the spirit of hope still alive, I sign off.

P.S-This blog shall not suffer anymore due to illness, mood swings, laziness and procrastication.

Love.

Sickness and It's Repercussions

photo credits: Aditi Sharma

Buffy and similar tales

I came across this yesterday, at work. And I missed my dog a lot. You see...I think he's quite a retard too. I was glad there are more like him... :)

I'll Go For Miles Till I Find You

Then looking upwards
I strain my eyes and try
To tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites
From the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

"Do they collide?"
I ask and you smile.
With my feet on the dash
The world doesn't matter.

I've been having a pretty normal week.For the first time in four months, I'm not crumbling under the pressure of work. I know I have a lot on my plate, but let's worry about that next week?

It's funny how we're slowly graduating from going to fancy restaurants, swanky clubs and bright, high ends places to hang out to normal, basic places. I am so glad about that. The evenings no longer end with a hole in my pocket. It's the pulse of the city that we truly feel in these underrated places. It's a feeling I can hardly express.

Last weekend, we chured out around 5 lists of where we wanted to go. My inbox received it's usual weekend planner from "brown paper bag". Like tradition, we never followed it.

At 11pm, I was sprawled on the floor, youtubing the famous "community channel" and feeling miserable. The other two were on calls, trying to push time to move faster so it would be the 'respectable' time to sleep on a weekend.

Just then a friend called. And decided to save the night. To begin with, there was no plan. The night seemed friendly, and quite frankly, a walk was all I needed. A walk is all I ever need, always.

We happened to reach Juhu beach. It had just rained. The sand was damp and made a squelching sound as we walked along. Our slippers seemed to be made of that muck, within 5 minutes. And so, the smart thing to do was to walk bare foot.

We talked as we watched the waves making continuous happy crescendos, riding over the calm water of the pensive sea. Humans were scanty around the entire stretch of the beach. It was just us, four friends, and the sea. The sea almost seemed to be laying a bait for me to run towards it. It was fascinating and yet, scary. I knew the sea wanted to eat me. I still wanted the sea.

We sat down, and we watched the lights from afar, the ships anchored right in the middle of the sea. They seemed to be teasing me, having reached where I would have liked to go, at that very moment.

After what seemed like a lifetime, it was time to go back. We walked in the opposite direction, to see where it would lead us to. In the middle of the walk, with the wind playing with our hair and happily whistling around,a sudden spurt of energy got me running. Me and my friend ran, for about half the stretch. I ran like I was 13. I ran fast, and I cursed my friend, beating my pace, all along. My lungs were about to burst, but I still ran to reach my mark. I slipped a bit, my legs ached, but i ran. We touched the pole that marked the end of the race. As i stood doubled up, catching my breath, I could almost feel the fresh, healthy oxygen passing through my starved lungs, calming it every minute.

It was time for home. We rode through the rain washed, empty, quiet roads. With the passing of each turn, I felt I had left behind another memory...


When you feel embarrassed then I'll be your pride
When you need directions then I'll be the guide
For all time.
For all time.

All that's left is shifting in the sand.

it's only two days back that I realized we had completed the one year mark in Bombay. I wont quote the cliche' "time just flew", over all. It was a two pronged life that was running parallel. One that encompassed all the happenings of college, that is to say, the classes, teachers, friends, parties, etc. And the other was a ...slightly confused mesh of the life I had left behind in Delhi and the happenings that kept chasing me, affecting me, finally leading to reactions,all throughout. This also included my family- a movie that was continuously in the making, of which I was an indispensable part,even though I was away. There were happy times when I'd sit and sulk about how time was just passing by, and I wanted to hold on to it, as tightly as I could, because I knew I couldn't live them again. And then, there were times when I'd just wish this would get over like a bad dream.

However, all said and done, Bombay life has been eventful. So much so, that 'dramatic' would be an understatement.

You can't hate Bombay. Mostly because it teaches you how to survive. Because it is a life crunched for time. It gives you no time to linger on to extreme emotions for too long. It is a flood of all-cramped-in-one bag full of moments and memories. I know I might be living that time, which I will reminiscence for all my life. Right now, I don't have the time to savor it, because I have something else cropping up, already. It's this continuous chain of unstoppable events. You can't halt and take a breather.Bombay is a marathon, it only ends when you give up. And no one does.

We decided to celebrate this one year anniversary. So we went to one of my favorite places- Ghetto. Ghetto, unlike Mondy's, has no sentiments attached to it. I don't remember having any exceptional nights there with friends. I don't remember any sort of lifetime memory associated with it either. Even then, I love the place. Most think it's a little over the top. But it's just fine for me.

The three of us hardly 'talked', to begin with. We did not remember old days. We didn't well up for the sake of tradition, we did nothing out of the rule book, we didn't even wish each other. We played silly games, and laughed at our stupidity. We only played pop corn football and used our mouths as goal posts. We only wrote illegible nothings on the walls and talked about inconsequential people.
And then we took a bus home.

That ride will probably be the highlight of this year, at least for me. The empty bus ride in the dead of the night, with rain washed roads smelling of freshly baked, intoxicating sand, was the best 'Bombay moment'. I saw what defines Bombay.It's the night. Bombay is the city for insomniacs, it's the glitter and the glam of the unapproachable's we like watching from a distance, it's the free populace, unaffected by the hour clock, still on the go. It is those people, who prefer looking outside at the beautiful streets witness to centuries of everyday life.

We watched rows and rows of shops running past us...people slung over the bus stop poles, engulfed with a cloud of smoke that was mating lazily with the darkness and vanishing within a blink. I felt that one year had taught me more than I needed to know. Home, suddenly, felt distant. I knew then, that it would always, and forever be my final destination.

We went shopping, the next day, when the heavens decided to dole out a blast of it's life- giving element. Water was everywhere and we were floating in it's magnanimity. It was the first time we relaxed our frown lines. I closed my umbrella and stuffed it inside my non-water proof, empty bag. We rolled up our jeans and decided to wade across the multiple English channels, our slippers deciding to float on their own accord, way ahead of us. We didn't know where we walked. We didn't know how deep the next pool was going to be. We just half walked, half floated, and half dragged ourselves from one puddle to the next. This too, was Bombay. The rains are an essential characteristic feature.You either hate it and suffer. Or you love it and...still suffer, eventually. We decided to do the latter.

Yes, it's been a year. It's been a year of a new life, unfamiliar faces turning friendly ...and hostile....it's been a year of laughing together. It's been a year of sulking and complaining. It's been a year of trusting and giving, of losing and finding new ways, discovering and re-discovering friends. Accepting changes and transforming. Redeeming and redefining.

It's been a lifetime here. For old times and new.

Thankyou Bombay.

Passenger Seat.

Some observations:

*I realized that when I listen to a new song, I prefer listening to all those that start with a piano or guitar piece before the lyric take over

*My current attention span is that of a fly

*I develop a restless itch on my palm when people speak like they've got 5 chewing gums stuffed inside their mouth which slows their speech to 5 words in a minute.I like people who talk fast. I tend to consider them smart, even if their intellect may be bordering negative

*I eat food in a record time. Every meal

* Wonder years, who's line is it anyway, Simpsons, will never go out of fad for me

*I love walking, even more now. If time was a friend and my office a cousin, and we all had great understanding, I'd walk to work, right from my doorstep to my work station.

*I prefer heavy rains to drizzling

* I can live on fruits, all my life

*I don't miss facebook at work. Honest

*I have, till now, not written a single serious late coming reason, which, by the way, goes in the official records. I can't help it. The lameness of the entire exercise just makes me want to give the computer (the company) some lameness back.

* I hate the associations with the colour Pink. As much as I don't wear that colour often, I support the one's who do

*I have the most absurd dreams. They can qualify for a perfect hollywood scifi movie

*Some small shops, highly unimportant looking, ignored by most passer by's have the most fantastic/witty lines written on their board

*Women letch at women...way more than men

*It's the toughest, most heart-breaking decision to do away with your old phone

*I start making my weekend plans from early Monday morning

*It's interesting to watch people slyly message during an important business meeting

*It's interesting to watch people scowl at everyone after taking too long in the loo

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

More later. It's 10 :35 PM, and I feel I am in high school again. This was the right time to sleep. I can plonk myself on the bed, right away.


Tchus.

THIS is called humor.

http://www.outlookindia.com/article.aspx?265851

Very interesting read.

I stumbled right into...

You may not be her first, her last, or her only.
She loved before she may love again.
But if she loves you now, what else matters?
She's not perfect, you aren't either,
and the two of you may never be perfect together
but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice,
and admit to being human and making mistakes,
hold onto her and give her the most you can.
She may not be thinking about you
every second of the day, but she will give you a part of
her that she knows you can break her heart.
So don't hurt her, don't change her, don't analyze
and don't expect more than she can give.
Smile when she maked you happy,
let her know when she makes you mad,
and miss her when she's not there.

-Bob Marley.

Crows are evil. So shoot at sight.

"If you feel discouraged
That there's a lack of color here
Please don't worry lover
It's really bursting at the seems
Absorbing everything
The spectrum's a to z"

Death Cab for a Cutie

With the marching steady tick-tock, I've been absorbed with a bit of too many things. Ofcourse, the major bit of the bit is work. I'd rather not make the early announcements of likes and dislikes. It's been two months. I still say it's early. Like how my Art Director once said that for the first two- three years , you'd be busy only trying to figure out this industry. So the constant shuttling, puppetry show starring you, and having series of terrible days of complete clueless-ness, is all normal. I've always thought patience was a virtue, only gifted to a few. I guess not.

Question is, whether I'm ready to be a part of this never ending queue of supposed great endings. Who's to say it is even anywhere close to being great. Maybe the mediocrity provides a comfort zone that people find easy to slide into. Will I be another added number. Or will I pull out and tread a completely new path, a new career. I still don't know where my niche' really lies. More so, does everyone HAVE a niche'? Maybe some are born to be good for nothing :P Not that I hold myself in low esteem, it's not even a question directed at my fickle mind. It's a genuine doubt.

Shifting in a flat is far from easy. The added responsibilities make me feel I'm living a life I'd be living 5 years from now. Shared work and unaided first times of everything that encompasses setting up a house, is mighty tiring. Only, in this case, you don't give up, fold your arms and say "pass".

My music hours have increased, since it's directly proportional to my travel hours. I've got no new music. I've heard and re-heard, hummed and re-hummed the same old playlist some gazillion times. It's only recently, I rediscovered my love for the old rock and roll stars who introduced me to what is TRULY called music. Before I skip to the next musing, I must express a serious concern. What is with people tagging "blues" .. and "jazz" as SOFT, lame (in the words of my colleague, 'that pussyshit'"). Really now. How can any form of music be subjected to any definition and bias if you claim to be a music enthusiast? Isn't music an umbrella term for anything that contains basic melody? I understand likes and dislikes, but who decides what's soft, hard (??), tender, sweet, bitter, pussy and non-pussy, on the basis of....er....pure idiocy, I'd say.

Eventful, is the operating word here, in this very blog, before I digress , as always.

Eventful is good. Over eventful is not. Change is good. Shift is not.

More later.

Tchus.

A beautiful young nymph going to bed- Jonathan Swift

There are some poems that are unforgettable. Purely because of the courage of the writer to express grotesque truths through the powerful medium of words.

I remember reading this in my second year of college. Almost moved us to tears.

Corinna, Pride of Drury-Lane,
For whom no Shepherd sighs in vain;
Never did Covent Garden boast
So bright a batter'd, strolling Toast;
No drunken Rake to pick her up,
No Cellar where on Tick to sup;


Returning at the Midnight Hour;
Four Stories climbing to her Bow'r;
Then, seated on a three-legg'd Chair,
Takes off her artificial Hair
Now, picking out a Crystal Eye,
She wipes it clean, and lays it by.
Her Eye-Brows from a Mouse's Hyde,
Stuck on with Art on either Side,
Pulls off with Care, and first displays 'em
Then in a Play-Book smoothly lays 'em.
Now dextrously her Plumpers draws,
That serve to fill her hollow Jaws.
Untwists a Wire; and from her Gums
A Set of Teeth completely comes.
Pulls out the Rags contriv'd to prop
Her flabby Dugs and down they drop.
Proceeding on, the lovely Goddess
Unlaces next her Steel-Rib'd Bodice;
Which by the Operator's Skil
Press down the Lumps, the Hollows fill,
Up goes her Hand, and off she slips
The Bolsters that supply her Hips.
With gentlest Touch, she next explores
Her Shankers, Issues, running Sores,
Effects of many a sad Disaster;
And then to each applies a Plaister.


But must, before she goes to Bed,
Rub off the Dawbs of White and Red;
And smooth the Furrows in her Front,
With greasy Paper stuck upon't.
She takes a Bolus e'er she sleeps;
And then between two Blankets creeps.
With Pains of Love tormented lies;
Or if she chance to close her Eyes,
Of Bridewell and the Compter dreams,
And feels the Lash, and faintly screams;
Or, by a faithless Bully drawn,
At some Hedge-Tavern lies in Pawn;
Or to Jamaica seems transported,
Alone, and by no Planter courted;
Or, near Fleet-Ditch's oozy Brinks,
Surrounded with a Hundred Stinks,
Belated, seems on watch to lye,
And snap some Cully passing by;
Or, struck with Fear, her Fancy runs
On Watchmen, Constables and Duns,
From whom she meets with frequent Rubs;
But, never from Religious Clubs;
Whose Favour she is sure to find,
Because she pays 'em all in Kind.


Corinna wakes. A dreadful Sight!
Behold the Ruins of the Night!
A wicked Rat her Plaister stole,
Half eat, and dragg'd it to his Hole.
The Crystal Eye, alas, was miss't;
And Puss had on her Plumpers p---t.
A Pigeon pick'd her Issue-Peas;
And Shock her Tresses fill'd with Fleas.


The Nymph, tho' in this mangled Plight,
Must ev'ry Morn her Limbs unite.
But how shall I describe her Arts
To recollect the scatter'd Parts?
Or shew the Anguish, Toil, and Pain,
Of gath'ring up herself again?
The bashful Muse will never bear
In such a Scene to interfere.
Corinna in the Morning dizen'd,
Who sees, will spew; who smells, be poison'd.

A hamster is NOT a rat.

It is THAT time of the year, when I want to be gloomy (NO, I hardly PMS you know-it-all's). But anyhow, there is nothing outstandingly amazing that's been happening. Or maybe I'm wrong. As the blog progresses and if I can come up with earth shatteringly positive news, I'll mention it. For now, this. And since I'm tired out, right from my aching brain to my over-walked toe nails, I'm going to bullet point these.

> The corridor provides the BEST view- for the others to look at you and snigger.
> Scatter brain-ness is the worst hit disease. It's going to cause the downfall of the entire humanity. But as for now, I'm infected.
> Self obsessed, mirror hogging, I-want-everyone-to-hear-my-telephonic-conversations,staring into space and at my face frequently, randomly switching on the light in the middle of the night, room mates are a PAIN.
> Being forced to laugh at the worst jokes. Because he decides your pay cheque. So suck it up.
> Laughing uncontrollably at the stupidity of those bad jokes. Unfortunately though, he decides your pay cheque.So shut it up.
> NO facebook. Even worse- No gtalk, for 9 hours. Daily.
> View of fresh defecations early morning at the train station.
> Oh Why oh WHY the heat. And the lack of taxis
> Early mornings.
> Anything early.
> Sun burns.
> Wanting to watch movies, but no money. No company. No way
> Over dose of ear phones and blaring music, to mute the outside world.
> Thinking of a new "fitted" career for myself.Everyday.
> Old age setting in.
> NOT being able to yawn and stretch in office.
> Not being able to find a better profile picture.
> Mondays'.
> Over time without pay.

I think I've said enough. Expect a positive post from here on.

Shawarma.

And NO, I don't want your BRIEF, even if it's creative.

This is where I crib, complain, question and rant. I rant, question, complain and I crib. And I do some more of this, here. RIGHT HERE.


There, THAT feels good.

"Calling from the corridor"

Recent Musings :

My work place has the old school attitude. Not in the annoying way, though. Only all forms of virtual socializing with the outside world is banned. Which is why we started an in- house, secret conversation mail. And yes, we know it's all tracked. But as I always say, the maximum damage cannot be more than losing our job. And anyway, my college seems to have produced a better 'displacement ' committee, than the counter.

Apart from being watched by at least 4 pair of eyes, all the time, through glass doors, work, all in all, is pretty decent. Maybe because I get no time to exercise my negative energies into disliking it, since I'm loaded with work from morning to evening.Or maybe because the place is actually growing on me. But most importantly, work keeps me busy. And busy is GOOD. Busy is necessary.

Upcoming/Recent events:

This month seems like a promising one. Hotness's birthday, two friends' upcoming visit, family time, and SALARY :)

Recent Plans/activities :

Everyday religious walk from work to station. I've decided to finally give an outlet to my cramped up thoughts and happy-to-scribble fingers, and so a little diary sits inside my messy bag. Cork on over introspection. No caffeine, even if it's for FREE. Serious plans on adopting a little Hamster. Raju, sadly, has left us, without a goodbye.

Miscellaneous developments

Replenished food cupboard. I've finally dropped my pay cheque in the bank. Got anti-glare glasses.
Also, corn on left foot. Frequent urges to bing more, right after a hearty meal.Sarcasm and cynicism, it's a "hello,welcome back" to you.


More updates later. For now, I'll call it a night.

" We're good performers stuck with bad audience"

I was made to read a blog entry day before, by my office partner, auburn leaves about her funny school play. And while I read through those 200 words, my mind started racing about all MY goof up's that made college so much more fun.

I remember this particular play that we did in college. We had the option of NOT doing it and doing a boring, 50 slides presentation instead. But we knew we had it in us, that enthusiastic, waiting to be unleashed, star performer. In all 5 of us. And so we put our ideas into action. I think it was the heat that got us not thinking straight- Aditi Sharma and Amrita SaiMarla were going to play the main lead. Only tiny problem with that was, we had an insufferable need to giggle on stage, and practically ruin the entire show. So the easy solution to that was, we would resolutely NOT look at each other through out the play.Amrita was to play the character of a crazy, hyper father. And I was the cynical, orthodox pandit. I don't remember practicing for the play at all. I only remember basking in the glory of how everyone would be blown over by our sheer brilliance on stage. And I could already imagine that smart A + right across my grade sheet.

The day came. But it never went. We were the last group to present. The play started fine. We all knew our dialogues, the class class seemed to be enjoying it. Our professor had the approving Mona Lisa smile plastered on her face. SO far, so good. Till Amrita decided to look into my eyes. And by default, I looked back. It was that split second of devastation. And all hell let loose. It is amazing how synchronized our laughs could be in that moment, and no one to appreciate the perfectness of that. Our laughs were super sonic, and I could almost feel the glass windows crack a bit. The teachers smile faltered. The class, too, knew it was the cue for them to match the wildness. Anyhow, we tried to pull ourselves together, but the damage once done, was done for good. To cut a long story short, we screwed up royally. Half of Amrita's dialogues were delivered by me, mine were delivered by someone else who played a mute character. The 'mother' in the play forgot all her's and just stood there, staring into space. the protagonist almost swore loudly and basically out of embarrassment, I kind of burst into flames. But I was still laughing.  The play was supposed to be concluded by one person, but we all pitched in, to save the day. Ofcourse, there was nothing left that could save the day.

A similar incident took place when Ching and I were performing on stage. " Way back into love" was the hot favorite song in college at that time. And THIS couldn't go wrong. We started with the duet. The song was half way through. When suddenly the strumming seemed not entirely right....I looked at Ching from the corner of my eye. Her face. Was red. That was not a very smart thing to do. You do NOT look like that on stage. Because that can make me laugh.

...We still thought we were unbelievable on stage, all three years of college...

Live fast, die young and leave a good looking corpse.

This one was long over due. Since this marks a new phase of my life. This phase comes with a mixed bag of events and situations. But primarily, I'm a WORKING woman now. As squeamish as those two words make me feel, I think I'll just pass by saying something that sounds splendid- Pagaar, salary, my hard earned deck of green has made it's first entry :)

Life itself has become a swing, and the constant oscillations just never tire out. The momentum doesn't seem to be dying.

My convocation pictures are out. The one's with the caps and capes. Quite honestly, the picture that people claim is mine could be anyone's.My face is lost somewhere in the mass of black. I'm too busy thanking the stranger giving me my diploma, than realizing that this could be a ruined picture in the making. The camera and I just never seem to get along.

Bombay's becoming a barren land. We hardly ever indulge in silliness. Gone are those nights, when we sit together, reminiscing old days. Mostly because the best of the lot has gone back. And we've all joined the crazy rat race, together.

The ambiguity of life does not go, once work starts, quite contrary to popular belief. It doubles, and it keeps playing in your mind, all the time, louder than before. I guess what work DOES teach you, is to tune it down when it gets too blaring. And more so, how to live with it.


More later.

Dah-li :D

I'm back in Delhi. And what's surprising this time, is that Delhi is being subjected to constant judgments. And tight scrutiny. And a repeated self inquiry. I loved you, right? Then why are the question marks, sprouting from every corner I turn my head to. It's place in my head and heart seem to be shifting, a little uncomfortably so. But that can be handled. It only requires a change in the lens.A different one for all moods.

Delhi is always up for an encore. If you've missed something, worry not. It's happening, simultaneously,somewhere else. Like how I spotted a man just yesterday, in sheer concentration, designing a public wall. With his pee and using the tool between his legs. The people around him seemed to be blissfully unaware of the artist at work. Or was it an everyday activity. Either way, it was a sight to b(p)ee-hold (quite literally).

On another occasion, when a DTC bus driver, drove his bus at high speed, cos he wanted to race with a mini van. And the passengers in both the buses were holding on to each other, for dear life. Had they spoken one word though, if not through road rage, the "jaat" rage would've surely killed them. Hence the suffering in silence.

If one could earn 1 rupee for one minute stare, all our city issues would be solved. The joblessness is not the issue, mind. Job, they all have. But the strong belief in work and pleasure.Ah, no. Pleasur-ing. (Really ew!)

The Delhi metro is a a small and slightly better version of the buses. Better because it's air-conditioned. But once the metro voice starts crooning "doors will open to your right. Mind the gap", and WHAM. *Mind the hands, you stinky hopefuls. And WOMAN, those are your busts, not boxing pads! *

The dhin-chak cars, STILL take the cake though. They always will. Let's face it. They completely encapsulate the whole "Dehli" feel. You cannot be a Delhi girl and not be chased by black tinted, zipping cars, with a momentary flash of- black shades, peeping suddenly into focus, making a guest appearance, blow kisses in the air, and speed up like their ass is on fire. Plus, the latest, never- heard- before weirdly mixed, Punjabi cum hip hop cum rock cum self composed...er...songs, at full volume.In all the excitement, the viewer does a little something for the view-ee. He leaves a little trade mark. And so, the car reads from behind "ziddimunda", or better still, "punjabirocker". THERE. Work done. Piece of cake. Outdoor advertising at it's best. Now THAT'S creativity. And you thought they were a bunch of no good morons. Tch.

Anyhow, for all the afore mentioned. A neutral stand. But I know I can safely say- TYPICAL :D

Because I need a title for this.

I'll start off with a random thought. In between a conversation with a friend, we both happened to say the same thing -An empty mind is a devil's workshop. And I seriously wondered about my dog's state of mind :P

In another state of laziness, when I was done stretching, munching and napping, I happened to open my phone's inbox. And it's surprising how I never bothered to check the number of messages that were cramped inside it......845. HOW on earth did I happen to accumulate that many. I really needed to exercise the delete option, sometime. And I sat with a mission. Cross-legged. Concentration. I read through them all. And an hour went by. I laughed at some, I sniffed at some. All in all, I emoted at each and every one of them.
My inbox now has 840 messages. Phew!

In another state of pensiveness. I hate cross roads. But they always generate excitement. And anticipation. We always have a strange kind of affinity to things we hate.

In another state of recklessness. I want to take a trip to Leh. Alone.

And another state, in another blog.

P.s- ( I generally have abrupt starting and ending to my blogs. I wonder why. )

Fasting ..Feasting and more..

Eating 5 times a day is no joke. Atleast in my world, Sharma land. My Bombay friends all make fun of my appetite. They start off by ordering half a 'roti' for me, when we eat out. And then the constant jokes follow.

Which is why Delhi loves me. And feeds me well, always. My digestive system still remains loyal to Bombay though. Hence, the constant battle, of binging and ejecting it all out, simultaneously, that too.

Anyhow, if there's something called freezing time, in a particular place. With particular people, etc. That's what Delhi is. Delhi is frozen. People are frozen. And memories, too. It's almost mechanical, but in an endearing way. I need to push buttons and de-frost it all. And there it is, just the way I've always wanted. Relationships between people, among my friends have changed. Entire group dynamics have reversed. But those personal bonds, between me and them, have survived. And if that weren't the case, I'd have broken. Because home is one place that shouldn't be subjected to change. I'd hate it even if my books were moved from one shelf to another. Time walks only till my door step. Beyond which, it is prohibited.

If only I could bottle it all up, and carry it with me, wherever I go. For I've got my running shoes on, since the past one year. And I'm not taking them off for the next 10 years.

It's too late, too soon.

Do we HAVE to stamp a relationship with an engagement ?
Do we HAVE to comply to matrimonial union to get respectability ?
Do we HAVE to live together to BE together?

The Trine-Sublime

This is a toast to the three best women in my playlist right now. The songs always manage to lift up my soul and make me want to sing along. Or not, but have the magical ability to momentarily, make things right. But on most occasions, echo my emotions. Their songs, just always, FIT. And the lyrics, they could've been written by me. Infact, the lyrical resemblance is uncanny. Any which way, here's what they mean to me.

1. Madeleine Peyroux- Your voice is phenomenal. The perfect mix of sensuality and base. A voice I've never heard before, a voice to envy, a voice to admire, a voice inimitable. "Lonesome" is closest to my heart, by far. Purely on the basis of it being for all occasions, and people. Situations and memories. It highly connotes mush, but it's far from that. It's emotionally loaded but it makes me want to smile. It's far from being a separation song, to me, it's a song of past togetherness. "Dance me to your beauty", is probably one of those few songs that make me want to dance. And transport me to the world of true, pure, jazz. A ting of sassiness and tease, an old sixties set up and a wooden dance floor.
Your lyrics are cryptic. Your lyrics are perceptive. And your lyrics remind me, of mine.

2.Katie Melua- You're songs are simple. And bang on. I hate them sometimes, for not being twisted. The pure honesty gives me an itch. It makes me fidgety, but I still can't hit "stop". I sit through it and I curse you, and I love you. I put you on a loop, sometimes. Your songs prick my self consciousness, my cocoon of control, and please my unadulterated side. You voice is as smooth as your songs. I've got to listen to you, atleast once in my 4 odd hours of music time. I'd have to rewind and go back in time, during those early teens , to write like you. But their relevance remains, even now.

3. Michelle Featherstone- You were introduced to me, by my closest friend. And hence, the obvious bias. Your songs substitute my mental situation, my inexplicable mood swings, the wordless world of fluid thoughts. I love the piano. And I love the lovely mesh of the two melodies, a beautiful voice set to the rhythm of the piano. You make me want to hang on to each word you sing, and feel it in all honesty. I don't listen to you too often. I listen to you only when I KNOW I need music, for therapy.

Black book blogs.

SO I was separated from my direct connection with the world at large. When my laptop decided to die, all of a sudden. So there I was, blogging, updating, chatting and mailing, very happy and content in this little virtual world of mine.

The laptop suddenly spluttered. Made a weird "noise". And then, died. Just like that. I was transported into the wonderful world of flashback. Black and white, there I was , on the swing with you, on the sofa, bed, loo *cough *....... chair, table, college, home, floor, street, everywhere. I could see you EVERYWHERE. Like our existence was synonymous to each others. And I lost you before I could say bye bye.

Anyhow, after I snapped out of the world of drama, I realized how seriously, technology had engulfed me. That's when I spotted my old XIC registers. And leafed through each page. And realized how my entire one year was so beautifully hidden in these 5 registers. The one that really got my spirits up was the small black one. It probably has the best of my doodling works, my conversation with friends during class and a few short poems written here and there. Some of the pieces are as follows :

Feeding your fantasy,
as fantastical as,
an immortal cup of venom,
as surreal as life itself,
churns that perennial, colossal world,
that's
Virtual




Dog and the bone,
where the dog is me,
and the bone is you.

Where the tag is me,
and the chase is you.

Where the seek is me,
and the hide is you.

Where the fun is me,
and the game is YOU.

Take me back....to where I belong...

Sophie's World is a book that most have read, I've discovered. People don't let me pull a "genius discovery moment" when I mention it. Which is rather sad, since there's so much I'd like to say about it. With the dipping interest level, however, I find it easier to move on. And talk about the weather. And such like.

Which is why the blog.

I'm still half way through it. But the book couldn't have come at a better moment in my life, when I've been cribbing a lot on my course choice, and when I'm torn between the love for Arts. And going in for Advertising, which is making me pedantic. YES. Not creative. But boring.

Literature and Philosophy seem like Siamese twins. I wish I could've done a double degree in both these disciplines... MOre so, I wish I could be born in the era of those natural philosophers, still trying to figure out the why's and how's of the world. Formulating the "forms" and "substances" of things. Where every theory could be right, or all wrong. Where logic and superstition were still strong opponents, and rationality ,a distant cousin. I'd like to have been Plato's student too. Join the unconventional school of education, under trees, write on barks, et all.

We've reached a very "know-it-all"', "nothing surprises me", "that's been done to death" phase.So they say we're moving in circles. When does THIS round complete?

Almost like. There's nothing new under the sun.

Daddy Decides to Lie.

Rather amusing to see parents jittery. And nervous. About LYING. Yours truly isn't any different. But that's another story, only for interested ears. That apart, daddy dearest was in a fix. And didn't know what to do.When asked to tweak certain facts. When I had a list of excuses/lies, ready in my kitty for him to recite, totally unpracticed before. Mom might just be more shocked than surprised. At any rate, both will trigger stress, since the journey undertaken, with the high involvement of risks, effort, etc. will make her heart melt, and also worried. Grown up too fast, too soon, she'll think. And I'll just roll my eyes.

Buffy tops the list, still. He's always happy to be surprised. And his tail NEEDS reasons to wag. During dull spells, when life has nothing to offer, his tail wags on it's own accord, to entertain itself. A little wag to the boredom. He wags at anything.

Brother, for the first ever time isn't a partner in crime. I wish he could be. But aye..what the heck :)

Blogger has returned back to being my buddy love. "Benny lava", a sudden pang and a feeling of nostalgia.

Waiting desperately for the reply mail/ call. My future LIFE depends on you, buggers.

Besties to me.

Musings.

Secrets add spice to life.
But confessions ALWAYS take the cake.